


The Wheel

by Biliouskaiju, Chrome Carnivale (thewarboys)



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biliouskaiju/pseuds/Biliouskaiju, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewarboys/pseuds/Chrome%20Carnivale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenaged War Boys, Nux and Slit, are of age to earn The Wheel in the Demo Arena. But when two Brothers want the same thing, a reckoning awaits them, and blood may be spilled before one emerges victorious from twisted metal and dust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreams

_He was flying over the desert, the sand ripping past at top speed, a blur of orange and yellow, faster, faster, until the Earth itself beneath him seemed to arch away. He couldn't tell if he was flying or driving, but was there really a difference between the two? Suddenly, the world erupted in a massive crash, water thundering down around him, filling up the air, a massive spout hanging in the sky, filling up the sandy dunes until the puddle grew up into the clouds… he couldn't breath. Water, filling his lungs, dragging him to a halt, and he clawed frantically, struggling to climb his way up to the surface where the sun shimmered, broken by the waves above him…_

Nux stirred in his sleep, his hammock creaking, swaying with the effort of tossing and turning, his breath coming in ragged, hoarse bursts. Drowning, he was drowning, and he couldn't call out, couldn't yell for help, the water had filled his throat…

"Oy!" Slit growled from beneath him, sprawled out on an old, dusty cot mattress that had long ago lost most of its comfort. It was those nightmares again, the kind that took force to wake the younger boy from, the kind that wrapped phantom hands around his throat and strangled him, and meanwhile kept Slit from a full night of rest.

He crawled out from under Nux's hammock and rubbed away the sand crusting at the corners of his eyes, bending over his fellow half-life to give his cheek a few rough slaps. "Wake up 'n shut up, Nux!"

Nux's eyes suddenly flew open, dilated to terrified pinpoints as he continued to gasp and wheeze, a hand suddenly flying out to grab Slit's wrist, the other clawing at his neck. The dream had evaporated like steam by the second slap, but the drowning sensation continued long after the water had rushed away. He couldn't breath- No, maybe he could. A tiny bit. A drizzle of air as he hiccupped and sucked like a beached fish, had either of them ever seen a fish at all to think of that sort of analogy.

Slit tensed at the grab, and watched as Nux's eyes grew wet and watery, and the tendons in his neck flex as he struggled for air. The anger in the teenage War Pup's mangled face quickly twisted into concern. His Brother drowning in imagined aqua-cola, face going red with strain, Slit feared the Soft Death that Nux became increasingly terrified of.

He hauled up to his feet, and yanked Nux along with him, pushing him down into the cot belly-first. "Alright, cough it up! You're not dyin' soft in bed! I will not Witness! Hear me, Below Boy?!"

Slit hit him hard across the back, gripping his shoulders to jostle him, to jog loose the invisible hands that reached for him from the great Nothing beyond Walhalla, where the mediocre burned to ash, their souls refined for the guzzoline of its vast and splendid War Rigs, ultimately forgotten, used, and discarded.

The pressure on his back and chest only resulted in a thin choked noise, but Nux was in no position to fight back. "S'jus…. Larry!" He wheezed with what little breath he could choke, hand trembling as it first swatted at the other War Boy before curling up to claw at his neck.

Slit scowled and lurched away from Nux, snatching up his toolbox to retrieve his sharpest blade.

"Gonna cut 'em off! Clean an' quick! Then no more choking, no more sickness!" It seemed sound enough logic in the panic of the moment as Slit descended on Nux again, grabbing at his hand to try and expose the uneven lumps nestled at the base of his neck.

That proclamation did nothing to help settle Nux's racing heart. With another choked croak, he rolled quickly out of the way, head spinning as he attempted to crawl away down the row of sleeping Brothers. "Not… slit… my… throat!"

"Nux!" Slit tucked the knife into one of many holsters sewn to his pants, and scrambled after him. He wouldn't be helpless. Not like when they were small pups, unable to defend himself against the brutes that carved his face. He wouldn't sit by and do nothing while his Brother faded. They were Awaited and Destined for something great. They had drank Mother's Milk, the nectar of the gods. And one day soon, Slit would be a Driver, and no War Boy was fitter to be his Lancer than Nux.

He grabbed the boy by the arm, eyes wide and wild with a mixture of fear and determination. "Stay! ...Stay...I won't slice 'em! Jus' tell me what you need, Brother...tell me how to get them hands off yer throat!"

Nux didn't answer, propping himself up on his elbows on the sand and stone floor, letting his head hang toward his chest. Little breaths. He just needed to relax. As his senses slowly returned to him, he could remember. If he calmed down, they'd let go. Rowdy. Maybe they knew he was dreaming something bad? Just trying to help. That was very nice of them, he figured. Now it was just a matter of getting them to relax.

After a few moments, he was able to swallow, breathing in slowly through his nose. How deep their feet must be, his head was still swimming, to reach so deep into his throat? "Not… dead." Once he could keep his shallow breathing regularly, he gingerly sat upright to crawl back to Slit's bed. He didn't think he was ready to stand to get back into his own just yet. "They were… trying to help…" He reported, giving a light-headed smile.

"Who was?" Slit rasped, confused and frustrated, but relieved that his Brother could at least breathe. "You're talkin' kami-crazy…Shoulda let me slice 'em…"

He sat down heavily beside Nux, unsheathing his blade to carefully pick a bit of dirt out from under his fingernails. There'd be no getting back to sleep now, and a few other War Pups were stirring and grumbling over being woken by the ruckus.

"Larry… and Barry…" The wheezing young man gave a snort and an asthmatic giggle before pointing to the lumps on his neck. They had grown considerably since he had been smaller, with friends to join them. "Me... mates! Have to… cut deeper than… shoulder. Axel's broken. Alignment off. They just… block the intake… knew I was-" He cut himself off, smile fading immediately before sitting forward stiffly, pretending to concentrate on his breathing as he stared at a scuff of oily sand by his feet.

"Pff!" Slit scoffed. But what else did he expect from his young Brother, who always found water in the desert of their lives. He always struck oil, no matter how broken the rig was. It was a talent far beyond Slit's comprehension, but one that had pulled him up out of dark places more than once.

But at Nux's pause, Slit looked over his shoulder, and waited for more words that never came. "Knew you was what?"

"Nothin'!" He drew in a deep breath before carefully attempting to haul himself to his feet, gripping the canvas tarp hammock for support as he did so. "Bad dream. That's all. Passing already." Steadying himself on his feet, he glanced down the row of quietly stirring War Boys in their various ranks. Today was the day. Like hell he'd let on how nervous he was. Nevermind these tests were often fatal, but what wasn't usually fatal, anyway? Even breathing sometimes could be fatal, especially when one is trying to do it near a tail pipe. No, today was the day Decisions were made.

Their judgement would determine their seats in the Great Banquet. Perhaps not literally, not with place cards or anything, but with a Wheel in your hand, it might as well have been. After this, they could leave the Citadel. Could fly across the sands, see the wonders of the Bullet Farm, the power of Gas Town. To die in battle defending the Roads, defending the Machine. No greater honor. Die mundane, be demoted, or join the canon fodder that brought them to their greatness… The pressure of the possibilities seemed to upset his so-called 'friends', and their anxious grip tightened on his windpipe again. "How… how long until Sun Rise?" But was Nux nervous? Of course not. War Boys were never nervous.

"Few hours," Slit said, the air still cold and the sky still dark. And if they stayed here talking, there'd be more grumbling from the other young men, and Pups scattered amongst them. Today was It. And if he wasn't going to get all the rest he wanted, then he would at least let the others get theirs.

"Come on. Too stuffed in here. We'll get you air for your pipes, clean an' cold." He stood with a grunt and pushed his jaw with the heel of his hand, to snap out the stiffness in his neck with a series of satisfying pops.

Nux grunted in agreement, still breathing short and shallow as he ghosted his way down the rows of young men. Outside Air sounded good, real good. Freeze off the sweat until they're broiled that afternoon once the sun burnt at full capacity.

Slit lead the way through winding corridors, past the Garage, and out, finally, into cool, clear air breathing in through one of many large burrowed holes in the side of the mountain. He gestured at Nux to join him as he eased down to sit on the ledge, legs dangling off the cliff-face and the long, deadly drop to the Below.

The vast stretch of desert dunes were dark and blue beneath a haggard moon, the black oil sky dotted with stars. Beautiful. Quiet. At peace. It was a far cry from the hot and horrible day, from its flaming sands and unforgiving roads. Here, high on the Citadel, looking out toward the billowing smoke of Gas Town, Slit felt embraced, and the closest he'd ever know to the calm a Mother's arms might bring. Fat and swollen in the sky, the moon illuminated her weary sons, and made them shine in the darkness.

"They're gonna chant our names, Brother...it'll be so Chrome. Gas Town'll remember our names after it's done." Slit pointed to the dark stain on the horizon and grinned as he imagined the roar of engines and the crash of twisting metal that awaited them there in the Arena, moonlight glinting off the staples in his cheek.

Nux had been to Gas Town only once before, last year to watch Slit compete for his Wheel. It had been an exciting experience- the only time he had ever left the Citidel's walls. He certainly was never first pick for Lancer. This year, though… this year it would be different. He wondered if he should tell him.

Maybe not so close to the edge of the Wall.

Instead, he leaned on the side of the tunnel, allowing his throat to relax, willing himself to breath properly. If his mates got too excited during the event… Better keep his mind off of it. "It'll be a Historic day, for sure, Brother," He managed to smile meekly.

"I'll get my Wheel this time. I been practicing. This time, no mistakes. My Racer's gonna shred all the others!" Slit laughed as his voice echoed against the twin mountain across from them, and leaned back on his elbows to peer up at the sky. "You been practicin', too. I know you have. Disappearin' all the time, missin' Suppers. Bet you're real good, now. Real Crosshairs Crazy Fuck… Can't wait to see you blow the rabbits."

Nux scowled up toward the green leaves on the adjacent hilltop, setting his jaw. Those ruddy rabbits. No, he hadn't been practicing his aim- well, he had, just a bit, but it was no use. It wasn't necessarily his aim that was the problem. He just wasn't built for Lancing. He was wired to Fly, he knew it. He felt it. He dreamed it. But how could he tell Slit? He'd have to eventually. Especially if they'd be facing off in just a few short hours. "I don't want to die just a Black Thumb," He murmured, warily glancing Slit's way. He had been busy busy busy, that was for sure. Spent all of his Credits. How he had kept it secret for so long, he wasn't sure, but impressed even himself.

Slit's face screwed as he looked over at Nux, brow furrowed down in an almost dangerous frown. One of them had to Drive, and it was going to be him. Much as he cared for Nux, no Below Boy was going to Outshine him. He turned his face back up to Mother Moon, and ran his tongue over his teeth in the tense quiet that followed, lips pursed in thought.

"Black Thumb's not so bad. Lancers is the protectors. Real Kami-Crazy War Boys...Real Shine. I been Lancing since last year. Once you taste it for real, you'll feel different. Blowin' up for real ain't like the rabbits. All that metal and meat flyin'...You'll see."

"I'm sure I'll see," And Slit would see. And all of them would see. Slit would notice when he wasn't riding with him, but for now, he'd keep the peace, just for a little while longer. "Tell me again about the Bullet Farm?"

Slit had told him the story countless times over the year, and was always eager to tell it again. With a deep breath, he began, telling about the Badger Boys, rogue and vicious younglings that set traps and dug holes by the roadside, crazy rabid with extra limbs and skin painted black. He told of how swift they were, how quick and clever and insane, and how they'd dragged War Boys straight off the Immortan's Rig and disappeared with them into the sand.

He told of the men and women draped in chainmail made of bullet casings at the Bullet Farm, of how the air was filled with the sound of gentle metal clinking, like a chorus on the wind. There'd been a girl there, and the color of her eyes changed every time Slit recalled her, and she'd been beautiful. Hardly any lumps. Almost as perfect as Immortan Joe's most prized possessions. And the extent of what happened with the girl also changed with each retelling. Sometimes a kiss. Sometimes whispered words. And sometimes she snuck away with him, high into a Sentinal's Canopy, and swore to be his Wife.

"Think the Immortan's Boys get Wives?" he asked with a grin, interrupting his own story.

To that, Nux snorted, laughing honestly this time, "Live long enough to find a wife, I am sure no one would stop you. Unless they want to take her. Eyes on the road," He playfully gave his friend a light shove.

Slit snickered and laid his head back onto his palms, fingers knitted as his grey-blue eyes scanned the stars like a book, as if trying to find his place again. He continued through the last hours of the night, told how bullets were made, and how they punched holes through flesh, so hard they even sometimes came out the other end. With a sense of wonder, he described The Bullet Farmer, carried aloft by stationed War Boys, in the hollowed out hull of a decorated Racer, a legendary vehicle that had carried him through the Gas and Water Wars. Never once did he see the man touch a foot to the ground, and his voice was like thunder as he barked orders to his men. A real Warlord.

By the time he finished, the sky was a gradient of color, billowing up from the horizon with the sun. It was time. Deep within the Citadel, the War Drums began to beat, to wake the War Dogs and send them off to their Racers, lovingly crafted by their own hands to compete in the Arena. Slit bolted up to his feet and offered a hand to Nux, his twisted smile wide with excitement.

"Come, Brother! We ride to Walhalla!"

Nux had been happily lulled by the story, imagining the shining city and explosive excitement, but as Slit made to pull him back inside, he stepped back, nearly teetering off the edge of the tube as he did so. He regained his balance, fists tightening in resolve. It was now or never. Brothers were Up Front.

First, he side stepped further away from the edge just in case.

"Slit… what if I were to get my Wheel?"

Another tense silence fell between them, while the War Drums sent a quake through the rock, a subtle vibration beneath their feet. Voices began to echo within the Citadel as War Boys roused, and ran off for a fast breakfast of gruel, and a little taste of Mother's Milk to inspire and invigorate them, a gift from the High Immortan.

It wasn't as simple as the two of them both being Drivers. No, they'd been paired long ago, Fated. Brothers. So that their bond, fostered between them as children, would strengthen them both on the Fury Road. Only one of them could earn the Wheel. And that Nux would even think of trying set a rage boiling in Slit's stomach.

"You're gonna be my Lancer…We agreed!"

"I am not even MEDIOCRE with a lance!" Nux groaned, "You've seen! Everyone knows you could hit a crow's eye!" His face lit up, his voice an excited growl as he continued, "I was BORN to drive! I'm part of the machine! An engine looking for wheels! You know it! You could be MY Lancer and we'd be UNSTOPPABLE!"

Slit's lips tightened as he pulled a furious breath through his nostrils, and threw a threatening, accusatory finger in Nux's face.

"You won't dare! You know I've wanted this! If you practiced, you'd learn! You've known! You've  _known_  I wanted the Wheel! I will grind you to dust in the Arena if I have to! You won't take it from me!"

"You have been MEDIOCRE for YEARS, Slit! I will shine if you do not!" Nux roared back, hackles raised, even as Slit seemed to dismiss him.

Seething, Slit turned his back on his Brother and hurried away, back through the corridors, his heart slamming to the beat of the War Drums, flustered and angry...and terrified. Because if Nux hadn't been practicing the Lance, it meant he'd been building a car. And Nux was a better driver, even if Slit would never admit it out loud.

He swung himself into the seat of his Racer when he reached the bottom chasm of the Citadel, and revved up with the other War Boys, joining furiously in the chant that echoed through the mountains as they drove out onto the open sand where the War Rig waited.

Nux had taken a few extra minutes to regulate his breathing, but whatever anxiety attack had taken hold of his neck-mates had passed. Well, he had warned him. It was the least he could do. He wouldn't die of choking in his sleep. He wouldn't die of a fumbled lance, or mediocre driving under him. If he was to die, he would die flying over the sand, knuckles strapped to the wheel of a racer as they tore through his Immortan's enemies. A valuable cog in the machine. One to be missed, to be told about by the History Men. To be remembered forever, and welcomed eagerly in the Feast Beyond.

His place was not in a Lancer's Post.


	2. Convoy

After the first wave of prospective Citidel Cars had been unloaded from the garage, and he knew Slit would undoubtedly taken his sad excuse of a machine out to the ranks already, Nux made his way to his own vehicle. It was small, light, and sharp, but strong. Ever since that day he saw the last Demo, he had been engineering. Scraping parts together. Working late when Slit wouldn't notice him gone, or so he had hoped. The wheel was borrowed, as was all of theirs, but soon this modest steel monstrosity would grow, would shine beyond the shined steel of it's skin. His hands traveled along the roll-cage's arch, checked the engine's filtration, clean as a whistle, breathing clear through the desert at full steam… He had to do this. And if Slit did not approve, then he would show him what real driving was. He might have been younger, yes, but he had grown, was nearly the same height. Could smash stones in the newer tunnels just as fast. Could find the fault in a coughing engine twice as fast. He would see. He would understand. And if he didn't?

Well, he'd always have his mates.

The call came out for the bridge pass, and the next wave of Boys were shuffling into position, the garage filled with the sounds of shouts and orders and squeaking creaking metal. He leaned in to crank it into neutral, ramming his shoulder into the frame to wheel it out with the rest.

When all the Racers and hopeful young War Boys were emptied onto the sand, and flocked to the rumbling War Rig, a voice came screaming from the mouth of the enormous skull carved into the rockface, and to each of its bellowed chants, a throng of voices answered back.

" **WE ARE WAR BOYS!"**

"WAR BOYS!"

" **KAMI-CRAZY WAR BOYS!"**

"WAR BOYS!"

" **FUKUSHIMA KAMI-CRAZY WAR BOYS!"**

"WAR BOYS!"

" **TODAY WE'RE HEADIN' TO GAS TOWN!"**

"GAS TOWN!"

" **TODAY WE'RE HAULIN' LANCERS!"**

"LANCERS!"

" **TODAY WE'RE HAULIN' DRIVERS!"**

"DRIVERS!"

" **TODAY WE RIDE THROUGH WALHALLA'S GATES! SHINY AND CHROME!"**

"SHINY AND CHROME!"

An explosive roar of revving engines and bellowed cries split across the sand, and the War Rig lurched forward, to lead its sons across Fury Road, toward the billowing smoke on the horizon.

Great plumes of dust followed behind the chaotic convoy, and all the driving War Boys weaved between one another, a dangerous dance, a furious flirtation as their wheels kissed, and hulls scraped and sparked in anticipation of the Demo Arena.

Slit tore across the sands, watching the other drivers as he dodged between them, a hateful eye on the lookout for Nux. If he could run the Below Boy into a dune, or send him rolling, he'd be out of the tests before they began. He could still hold tight to his second chance at earning the Wheel. And if it came down to it, Slit would reduce his Brother's Racer to salvage in the Arena, no matter the risks.

Nux had screamed along with all the rest, his blood boiling, brain buzzing with the roar of his own engine. While he hadn't had the credits for a windshield, goggles had done just fine as he scanned the competition surging alongside him in the galloping herd. Big, clunky, some had been trying for years, each year their machine becoming more, hoping to up their chances. They became trickier to take, yes, but it wasn't just about being able to take a hit.

The little bare-steel car danced between them, handling just as he had expected and was gleeful to feel. It was the perfect opportunity to test out the machine's abilities. Two trucks up ahead closing in on each other - he zipped through as though the shrinking space between spinning metal blades was as wide and slow as a canyon. He dodged, wove, accelerated, screaming joyfully as the sand ripped past him and he broke into the head of the formation.

Slit perked, catching a fleeting glimpse, and an earful of Nux's war cry. His car seemed a puny thing, small and fast. It suited him. But Slit smirked to himself, a predatory glint in his right eye, the one that had just started going strange a few months before. With a quick jerk of his hand, he kicked the drive-shaft back, and his Racer roared forward, covered in bladed spines that rattled together like the tail of a snake.

He drifted on the sand, jerking the wheel to the side as he floated past one of the larger cars, and slammed the gas pedal to the floor when he cleared its front, swerving abruptly into its path. Laughter crackled in his throat when the War Boy at the wheel veered to avoid him, and toppled into a roll, too top-heavy, too clumsy, unable to navigate past the smaller bucket of steel.

"COMIN' FOR YOU, BELOW BOY!" Slit bellowed, engine growling as he chased after Nux's dust trail.

Nux barely registered the voice howling over the roar of his engine, but his expression was ecstatic once he caught sight of that familiar scarred face in his rear-view mirror. Slit's car was looking good, had it's defenses, but even a good car in the hands of a mediocre driver was useless. He'd have to catch him first. With a wild yell, he spun the wheel and the car skidded in the sand, spinning in a tight loop as it careened up onto two wheels to dip around the car beside him, settling heavily without loosing speed until he was driving backward so he could face Slit on the diagonal as they still thundered away. "YOU WISH YOU COULD FLY LIKE ME, BROTHER!"

Slit snarled, the creeping fingers of intimidation slithering over his tumorous ear all the way down to his guts. And that joyous, smiling face in front of him, poured feverish resentment into the engine that drove him.

But as the maw of his Racer neared Nux's bumper, another charged forward, on the warpath to claim the lead spot at the head of the convoy. They would soon arrive at Gas Town, and the honor of arriving first was ripe and coveted by them all. Before long, a whole pack of War Boys galloped in steel horses toward the two Brothers, forcing Slit's attention to break away from Nux as spiked wheels bore fast toward his own, sparks flying as metal twisted, scraped, and clawed at the thick rubber hide.

"FILTHY SMEG!" Slit roared, and leaned hard into the other car to shove them back in a moment of passionate defiance.

Two more flanked Nux, and he slammed on his gas pedal, speeding up just in time as the two came crashing together between them, slamming on his breaks and spinning the wheel again to about-face. The final stretch, and not a scratch. He had lost speed with his theatrics, but there was still a ways to go. Still time. The dials on his dash were in the red, his poor mechanical beast straining to keep up with his demands, but he knew it could handle it. Forget Slit. Think only of that look on his face when clumsy, silly Below-Boy NUX would be the first to cross the town line… Eyes on the road. They were allowed one refueling once they arrived, and it had to get them through. Make it last. He eyed the Nitro switch, debating his options… but no. No use showing off all of his tricks before the main event.

Slit veered hard, and nearly went up on two wheels avoiding the collision, a slew of curses spat off a venomous tongue as he fought the sand for control. Fire spewed up from a pair of metal jaws on either side of the chassis, a nudge of nitro blasting him around the barricade of steel to resume his chase.

The engine snarled its rage, metal spines rattling as he gained ground, and drove hard up Nux's back end, wild laughter crackling like lightning in his throat.

The younger War Boy gave a startled yelp that he quickly turned into a snarl, shifting gears in a furious motion as he tried to dislodge his attacker. Shake him off, shake him off, already the great metal heads of the oil-pumpers darted the landscape around them. They were closing in.

No use for it. The only way he'd dislodge Slit's beast was a sudden burst of speed… He quickly turned the dial to open the Nitro lead, slamming his foot on the gas as he punched the ignition button. His engine roared, spewing flames from it's exhaust like a frustrated dragon and gave his wheels enough of a kick to leap out from under Slit's bladed bumper, tearing forward like a rocket toward the leading pack once more… unfortunately, the dials had gone from red to suddenly dead as the heat seemed to be too much for the newly constructed rig.

"No, no no no no NO!" He was losing speed. The engine was dead, creaking and quiet as the sand pulled him to a stop, the cars peeling past on either side. "SLIT YOU FESTERING, MEDIOCRE PIECE OF-" with a howl, he slammed his fist on the dash, leaping out to hurry and pop open the hood, the poor thing steaming and groaning apologetically, burning hot under his hands.

For a split, cruel moment, Slit considered flooring the gas and ramming Nux's Racer, swallowing it up in fire, and the Below Boy with it. Murderous intent flitted briefly in the flames of Slit's right eye, but quelled swiftly when he saw his Brother leap from his car. Couldn't kill him. Not like this… He'd hate himself later. Would miss the stupid little pike. And when he fell down into the deep, dark pits of his own rotten mind, there'd be no one to pull him back into the light.

Slit bellowed as he raced closer, and twisted the wheel at the last moment, the back end of his rattling beast scraping the back bumper as he passed, and barreled forward toward Gas Town, until the roar in his guts built into furious laughter again.

Nux was sent tumbling into the sand, almost run over by his own car as it was knocked, and had to dodge as several more tore past to chase Slit's tail. Cursing and frantic, he hauled himself back up, snarling in frustrated pain as his fingers burnt, but he had to be fast. Fix her up. Just a bit of fever. Fevers always passed… until they killed you. But machines couldn't die, especially not this close to Gas Town's gates!

By the time the engine was roaring again, he was a good half mile behind the rest of the convoy, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning for raiders ready to pick off the stragglers. The smell of The Bog crept up his nostrils, and he relaxed ever so slightly. No raiders today, but even so his embarrassment burned hot as his fingers in the pit of his stomach as he pulled up to the rest cheering and awaiting the gate to the bridge to be opened.

The last to arrive.


	3. Demolition

The Guzzoline flowed freely among the War Boys' ranks, and steaming engines hissed as cold water sizzled against searing steel. Some hadn't even made it this far, their cars corpses for the Crows on the Fury Road. Next year, maybe their luck would be better.

"Next year, eh, Lancer?" Slit said, slapping a hand down over Nux's shoulder as he approached from behind, and grinned. "No shame in a second go. Someone's got to bring in the rear!"

"She's purring again already," Nux didn't look up, flinching at the slap, but concentrated on the hoses and connectors. He didn't have time for Slit's taunts. They only had so long to make repairs- he had the thing running again, but the last thing he wanted was for things to fall apart in the midst of the arena. No new parts. What he had was what he got. The problem was overheating- the Nitro boost had been too much for the puny little engine to take. He could fix it. Just a puzzle to be solved. A matter of efficiency. He could fix it if Slit kept off his back.

"Always were a good Black Thumb," Slit rasped, and gave the lumps beneath his hand a firm, threatening squeeze as he leaned in close and growled into his Brother's ear. "Now who's  _mediocre?_ "

At the squeeze, Nux gave a snarl, elbow shooting out to ram the older War Boy in the gut, "Tend to your own beast, Slit!"

Slit grunted and staggered back, coughing and chuckling as he stalked around to the open hood of Nux's Racer, lips pursing as he moved a critical eye over the boy's work. It was a good machine. And Slit's gears were already grinding over what parts of Nux's car he would salvage for himself.

He could handle Slit hovering, as long as he stopped  _interfering._ Even so, as he ran to and fro making sure everything was geared up and ready for War he kept a sharp eye on his friend. He wouldn't put it past him to stab a hose or strip a bolt if he so much as blinked.

Suddenly, the call went up over their heads, and the heaps of War Dogs all sent out their own cries- of enthusiasm and excitement, or groans that their repair time had come to an end so soon. This was it. Nux screamed, proud and ready, fists in the air. "Better get back to your Runner, Brother." He hissed once the cries had turned into revving engines.

It would hold. Held together with sticks and string, as far as he was concerned, but now reinforced, tightened, patched and ready, he was confident. Nux The Uncatchable, they'd call him. Slit will seethe in envy and come groveling back, and oh-so forgiving, he would allow him to be his Lancer once he saw the light. They'd go out in a blaze of glory, arm-in-arm in Walhalla together, just as planned.

It wouldn't be just Citadel boys they'd be up against - Resources could only bear so many tip-top machines for their soldiers. Combining the forces and resources of all three Towns, ensuring their armies would be top-notch and united. Continue the treaty, and finely hone their edges for what lay out in the desert, ruining their utopia of resources. It was well known the People-Eater hated the whole extravagant affair- felt it was a waste. The Immortan, all-knowing, all-understanding, had insisted it was an important ritual, one that burnt away the weak, and left only the best Parts and Boys behind while refilling another precious resource: pride. Of course The Bullet Farmer had agreed with the addition that it certainly perked up the morale of all those who Witnessed as well, and of course the People-Eater had no choice but to shut his books and agree. Their wise Immortan, always knew what was best.

Nux's heart was racing as fast as his engine as he pulled along with the rest of the line. The Arena lay ahead. It was massive, built on the edge of the Bog moat that surrounded Gas Town with it's jagged, rusting heap of cars that had been sucked into it's oily sludge, abandoned. A waste. The worst of all was being caught in The Sludge, that much he had learned. Your Parts can't be salvaged. A waste, and shameful. A half-ring of trucks and cars and machines had been built around that, where the spectators sat, stood and cheered their approach. He resisted the urge to stand on his seat and wave to the immense crowd from all three towns come to gather.

The ground, even the air, seemed to shake with the sheer power of rumbling engines, chants, and war cries that accompanied the roar of the crowd. Only once a year did the territories all mingle together in relative peace. The Demo Arena bound them all together in carnage and joy, a family baptised in blood and oil. Slit's heart soared to feel it again, to hear the steady cheer that rose like flames from those who would Witness. And though how much truth was in his story about the Girl in The Bullet Farm was questionable, the one certainty was that she was here, watching, and he would prove himself to her, to the Fallen Warriors, and to the Immortan Joe.

The long line of prospective Pursuit Vehicles spilled into the vast Arena one by one, flames kissing the hot air as their wheels kicked against the sand, flung to the edge of the enormous circle to begin a raucous lap, and give their Witnesses a good, close look at each proud hull, wheel, and growling exhaust. It was a time for betting, gambling, pitting pride into the heart of each chosen Driver, whose success or failing could mean riches or ruin.

As the racket of the crowd reached a fever pitch, all thirsty for the event, the War Rig blared its horn, long and loud from its nestled place in Gas Town, its bellowing echo signaling the violent birth of the Demolition.

The Arena erupted into chaos. The great metal beasts turned on each other in an instant, gave chase, fled, collided. Only the best drivers would walk away. Only the fittest Gladiators would carry the weight of the Immortan's trust on their shoulders, and into Walhalla. Slit gathered a year's worth of shame and determination, the fuel of Nux's betrayal, and packed it tight into his heart, Nitro in his veins.

Metal monstrosities crashed down around him, but Nux was screaming with glee. The dials spoke volumes, his raider-in-progress was just as excited to leap through the sea of swimming metal as he was. Already flames erupted from combusting engines, crushed pipes and shattered axles, the war-beasts tearing eachother apart around him, but like a fly, he darted between them. He had no idea if anyone was betting on him, but the more he dodged, the more he zipped past a crashing wheel and bladed bumper, the more he knew he certainly had a chance.

"I AM THE CROW THAT SNATCHES THE LIZARD!" He bellowed, wheels skidding as he careened out of the way of another collision, side-sliding through the oil-soaked sand at the edge of the moat, "I AM THE ANGEL OF DEATH WAITING AHEAD! RIP AND TEAR I'LL BE THE ONE TO REMAIN! THE ONE TO WALK PROUDLY INTO THE GATES OF WALHALLA WITH HEAD HELD HIGH!"

Slit's monstrosity, meanwhile, chewed up those unlucky enough to drive too close, too recklessly into the jaws of his grill. The welded metal spines welded to his chassis had their edges sharpened, an entire beast made of blades, and Slit meant to spread the sharp taste of regret to all in his path. All who stood between him and his betraying Brother, Nux.

As he tore through the side of a truck, sparks flying in the wake of long gashes left by his raking blades, War Drums and the shrieking cries of a guitar ripped through the air. The young Doof Warrior, Coma, had climbed upon his tower of speakers, and sang the song of demolition through the shivering strings of his hellish instrument. Slit laughed, literally grinning ear to ear as he felt the reverb quake in his bones, and his blood pumped to the low, building growl of the bass.

And there was Nux. He was easy to spot, one of the smallest cars zig-zagging and slipping free of the grasp of his competitors. A darting lizard in the dust, to Slit's crow eye. An evading scrap of prey, thinking himself clever, and quick, and untouchable. But another predator had his eye on the younger Brother, and swept across the sand, leaving a long plume of smoke behind him. Too fast. Another Racer slammed into Slit's side, and made him pay for his distraction, pushing him toward the Bog moat at the edge of the Arena in a flash of sparks.

But the driver's own ambition was disastrous. Slit's blades were as sure as his own aim, and punctured the engine, and detonated a blast of flame and heat that engulfed them both.

All Slit could hear was screaming as the War Boy stuck on the Blade Runner burned alive in his car, and struggled frantically to escape, a man-sized inferno flinging open his door and diving for the Bog to put himself out.

Nux was far too distracted to notice the vulture circling behind him, racing along the edge of the slippery sand to tear into the more reliable turf toward the center. He slammed onto the gas, accelerating in an instant as he hit a partial wreck, launching his vehicle into the air. While he hadn't bothered adding any spikes or blades to the frame nor body of his Raider, the chains he had carefully attached to his tires not only gave him extra traction on the soft dunes, but chewed through the hood of the massive car he landed on with a wild howl. Windshields shattered, the poor Bullet Farm War Boy inside screaming as the top of his car caved in around him like a crumpling can and Nux's car ripped through the hood over his engine, landing and swerving away as though it had been just another sand dune. A burst of Nitro flame as he left, the shattered engine behind him bellowed out in it's own plume of fire and spray of parts.

He checked his dials, almost too excited that the maneuver had actually  _worked_  to care to do so. The needle had flicked into the red for a moment, but to his relief had settled back down into the passable zone. "Just hang in there, beauty! We'll rip through them all at this rate! Let them eat each other alive and we'll be left standing!" It was dangerous in the middle, though. The fallen lay in heaps around them, cutting off the paths, making dodging that much more difficult. Eyes on the Road.

The Blade Runner pulled free of the flaming wreckage with a squeal of torn metal, and left little more than Scrap behind. The other War Boy had perished. "MEDIOCRE!" Slit roared from his broken window, and charged ahead, chewing through the damp edge of the Bog and sending a black spatter flying up at the crowd.

But the Vulture behind Nux, that weaved and drifted in his wake, was careful and patient. It did not ram forward, nor nudge up at the boy's side. Instead, he looked for an opening, a moment of defenselessness, a slide, a hiccup sputtering in the engine. Any perfect moment of opportunity as the Arena, bit by bit, hour by hour, became a mass grave of smoking, shattered machines, and broken bodies impossible to avoid. Tires churned the earth into a stew of blood, oil, and sand, and exhaled plumes of black smoke high into the burning face of the sun. And the Vulture bided his time.

Nux had slowed his speed, crawling amongst the wreckage for any hidden stragglers. The roar of the crowd and the wail of the Doof's guitar made it difficult to tell which Engine was growling from where, but he kept his goggles clear and his ringing ears perked. There! An opening toward the other side of the arena! He just had to stay moving, stay in one piece for as long as he could… he seized the opening, charging forward with a burst of speed and a spray of blood splattered sand … just as a sharp-bladed SUV rammed him sideways, sending his car tumbling.

Nux shouted, hands leaving the wheel to press up against the roll bar, trying to push himself down as low in his seat as he could - bottom heavy, BOTTOM HEAVY he had prepared for this, but would it work? He held his breath, even as he felt his neck-mates squeeze in their terror, but all three of them relaxed when the car landed heavily back on it's wheels.

Unfortunately, the engine had decided to sputter to a stall. "C'mon, c'mon you beauty! I fixed you good already! Deep breaths now! C'mon!" The truck was hurtling toward him now, having swung around for a second blow and all he could do was to punch the ignition again and again.

A spike of dread shot cold into the pit of Slit's stomach as he caught the collision in the rear view mirror, Nux's Racer turning hood over wheels as the Vulture circled, and dragged loose wreckage beneath its wheels.

"No you don't! He's  _mine!_ " Slit hissed, and swept the wheel as far as it could go, slamming the breaks to throw his wheels, ripping scars through the quagmire as he spun. He slammed the gas and lurched forward, straight for the Vulture's rear side wheel, drums and guitar screams ringing in his ears with the furious beat of his heart.

Slit roared outrage, and the world collapsed around him in a flashbang of white. He was a bladed battering ram, his hood crumpling as its spears slammed through the Vulture's hull, and his maw savaged the wheel. But the teeth were broken and torn from the mouth of Slit's car, smoke and steam hissing from his engine as the other machine went flying over his roof, only to be impaled and shredded by the bristle of blades that rattled there.

The Runner groaned, but lived. Slit panted, his brain jostled to black matter in his skull from the heavy impact, white-knuckled hands trembling with adrenaline. A quiet fell over the crowd. It was down to the last two drivers, their machines struggling as the sand and smoke slowly drifted and evaporated between them. The drums were silenced, and the Doof strummed a low, slow, growling chord again and again in tense and hungry anticipation of the Last Blood.

Nux's engine whirred to life again, and he spared no time stamping on the accelerator, rushing between the wreckage to put some distance between them. It wasn't until his heart had settled, and he saw no movement besides the occasional groaning War Boy crawling from their mangled vehicles did he realize what the silence from the crowd meant. A graveyard, he was weaving through a graveyard of prospective Drivers… was he the only one left? How many? It couldn't be over, there'd be a signal… but he'd made it this far! This far and still running! Still firing all pistons! Alright, so his axel might have been a bit bent, and he had to lean a bit to make her limp straight, but his vehicle was still functioning. Still holding on, despite the hours that had slipped past like High Octane Minutes. He really could do this… his first Demo and he was one of the last standing…

He spotted a straight-away path that cut ahead of the crowd, screaming out his window as he made a loop around, and grappled for the canister in his pocket. "I AM NUX THE UNCATCHABLE! FASTEST IN ALL THREE TOWNS! WITNESS ME!" That said, he sprayed, the silver paint stinging, burning on his lips and tongue as a wave of euphoria swept through him, lifting him up, guiding his hand to slam on the Nitro and send a dazzle of flames out behind him. "COME AND GET ME IF YOU CAN!"

Nux's voice moved through Slit's head like a distant echo through the high pitched squeal in his ears. There were bits of glass in his skin, from his shattered windshield. His neck ached, whole body tense. Was he dead? Had he unwittingly sacrificed himself for his Brother, when he'd only meant to save his demolition for himself? As his head lifted, and the world slowly expanded around him again, Nux's taunts turned from echos to a grating blare that pulled Slit's lip into a snarl over bloody teeth. His tongue throbbed, bleeding after he'd gnashed it in the collision, and all the sharp little pains grew more precise with his growing clarity.

He answered the War Boy with the deep, growling rev of his engine. There wasn't much life left in the machine. That was alright. He didn't need much. Just enough to ram Nux. Just enough to cripple his zippy little vehicle and bring him back down to earth. The bent and broken Blade Runner twisted in the sand, and moaned forward, pieces of snapped metal blades dangling and falling away as he gave chase one final time, while Coma's guitar screeched its echo of the challenge in the air.

Nux wasn't without his own wounds, but seemed oblivious to the red running down his face, staining the chrome around his mouth pink. His head was alight, buzzing with the songs of the Valkyries all urging him along to victory. The Immortan himself was watching - or at least The Council. Win or Lose, he was in the top tier! SURELY they wouldn't remember his delay in the wastelands? Top Notch Black Thumb with Wings in his heart! Still giggling euphorically, he only just noticed the meter on his Nitro levels going flat as the flames died behind him. Still, the machine limped along in a wobbling gait, and he heard the approaching challenger before he saw it, rattling and clanging over the distant wail of guitar.

Nux glanced to the shattered hand mirror that was his rear-view, mind lurching as much as his bent axle, he suddenly swerved between the metal corpses and burning remains, cutting through the center of the arena and caught a glimpse of his remaining Challenger behind him.  _Slit._

Honestly, he had lost track, his mind far from what his Brother was up to. He had figured someone else, or his own shoddy workmanship would have done him in by now… All humor drained from his face, brows furrowing and knuckles tightening as he concentrated on the path ahead of him.

He wasn't just some Below Boy with luck enough to survive thus far. He was strong. Stronger than Slit believed. Stronger than Slit. Nux the Uncrackable. Nux the Uncatchable. Certainly not Nux the Accident-Waiting-To-Happen, or variations there of. Slit would see. He'd be PROUD. He had to work his way up, just like all the rest. Worth his Salt. He shifted gears in a furious motion, could visibly see the remaining Guzzle-ine burn away, making a straight path directly toward the bog.

Slit galloped after him at his own limping pace, his snarl twisting into a blood-stained smile when Nux turned for the bog. It would be easy. Nudge him, that's all it would take. Ram hard at his side and send him straight into the Sludge. His Nitro not yet spent, he twisted the valve open, breathing new life into his mangled beast, and bellowed as the machine roared fast after its prey.

Nothing would stop him. Not the engine on the threshold of death. Not the Wretched Boy he'd been saddled with since childhood. Not his Brother. Not blood or oil or storm. He would take the Wheel straight from Nux's hands, and beat him bloody for his betrayal.

The black tar-like quicksand grew ever closer, and Slit was crawling up his rear. He'd have to time it right. Stay focused. Count your breaths. Three, two, one- Just as the gnarled front of Slit's car grazed the back of his shattered bumper, Nux swerved, sending a spray of black mire behind him as he peeled away from his pursuer, dodging sharply out of the way to safer ground even as his engine sputtered and groaned, gasping for it's last gulps of guzzle-ine.

Another stab of cold dread hit Slit's stomach when suddenly there were mere feet between him and the bog, his lizard meal of vengeance scampering off to safety. His foot stomped the brake, fists strained against the wheel, a curse ripping from his throat as his own momentum sent him up and over and toppling across the edge of the mire. More steel blades snapped and flew, and the world spun, and ended with a sharp halt as it finally made its landing in the tarry moat.

Slit laid limp, knocked into blackness, and his ruined Blade Runner began to sink, ever slowly, into the bog's embrace. A wild cheer sparked into an inferno of excitement through the crowd, and the War Drums joined the rapturous riffs of The Doof's guitar to hail Nux's victory. The War Rig blared its horn, Alpha and Omega, signalling the beginning and the end of the Demolition with its furious roar.

Nux's car rolled to a stop, his desperate panting twitching at the corners of his mouth as it twisted into a manic grin of disbelief.

It was over. IT WAS OVER! He had DONE it! He had so rarely claimed any victories of note, NOTHING compared to this, his head buzzing, although that might have been the blood-loss… He stood on his seat, pushing himself up through the roof-window with his fists held high, unhooking the borrowed wheel from the front of his car to wave it in the air victoriously, tears leaving clear streaks down the mishmash of blood and chrome on his cheeks.

He glanced back to the wreckage behind him, dying to see the look on Slit's face as he crawled from his vehicle… but no, there behind him sinking into the bog, Slit remained still in his driver's seat. Still it sank…. was he Kami-crazy? This was NOT the way to go! Shameful, shameful! That idiot! He dropped the wheel, scrambling out on shaking legs to trip over his own vehicle and fall to the sand, leaping toward his fallen Brother. "Slit!"

The crowd boo'ed and cheered, depending on their standing with the situation, but Nux ignored them, limping stiffly as he grabbed a torn car door to heave it ahead of him onto the quagmire of oil-waste and sand, using the debris he could find as stepping stones to leap toward Slit's car as quick as he could. With a growl, he tried to haul the door open, sharp rusty metal snagging at his fingers. "Slit! WAKE you idiot!" He reached through the broken window to give his friend a hard slap.

Slit's vision went from black to red. Blood in his eyes. Head stung. Walhalla. He could smell the motor-oil, the flames, could hear the cheering of the Great Warriors of All Time. And Nux…

His bloody brow furrowed as he looked toward the sound, blinking hard and wiping at his eyes with trembling fingers. Not Walhalla. No, he was in the stinking bog! And the world was upside down. With a sharp sense of purpose, he twisted his body, ignoring the stab of pain that was only a ghost through the surging mask of adrenaline. Broken...something broken. Bones, maybe. Definitely skin. Well that was fine. Nothing the Organic Mechanic couldn't weld.

He gripped hold of Nux's reaching arms. There wasn't room, and there wasn't time. The spikes of his hull were bent and broken, and offered a cage of slow-moving blades, a sharp barrier between him and the open air. He navigated it best he could, while Nux pulled, but there was no avoiding every sharp edge. The wretched, rusting teeth grappled at his chest and side, a shock of pain as his painted flesh tore.

"Nux, stop! Nux!  _FUCK ALL!_ " The War Boy didn't stop. Kept pulling. No other choice. But the Runner shred its driver, opened him up as he was dragged out, staggering and gasping from the depth of pain reaching into his gut. And when his feet met solid, blood-churned sand again, he threw his fist across Nux's jaw, and collapsed, gripping feebly at his bleeding gashes.

Other war boys had already leaped down to protect the Wrecks and haul what other survivors there were out of the mangled cars to go patch them up, and as Nux reeled back from the blow, white-powered hands were already grabbing him, lifting him up and away from his friend, carried on their shoulders…. Slit would be alright. They'd patch him up, no problem. His attention slipped from his groaning cohort to the screaming crowd and blaring guitar erupting around him. His heart was racing, and he felt a bit like he was either going to be sick all over the muscle-bound brutes that carried him, or perhaps pass out a bit, but regardless…  _this was his moment._ For once in his life, things had gone  _right._

He had won.


	4. Shine

"Lucky yer guts didn't fall out," Organic slurred, his oil-stained skin glossy with sweat as he wiped a line of saliva from his lip. There was a whole heap of demolished War Boys to patch up, and most of them would need further care back home. "Good thing we brought along a few Blood Bags, eh?"

Exsanguination was the name Death took for several of the Fallen that day. Boys barely out of Puphood were skewered on broken steel, slashed by shattered windows, bones cracked in wreckage. Those who walked away with nothing but cuts and bruises were now an Elite gang, top of the line High Octane. And Slit hated all of them as Organic's staple gun punched into his flesh to hold his gashes together, blood bubbling up from their edges.

"Didn't get the meat, though. Just yer hull. Little rest, Mother's Milk, you'll mend. Get on…" He waved Slit off his table to make way for the next junked up War Boy. There was a long night ahead, and the Mechanic's assistant ushered Slit over to a line of dangling bodies, and pressed a needle under his pale skin, Guzzle-ine for his emptied engine.

Nux's wounds had been minor, all things considered. A gash across his nose, soldered closed, a broken finger bound and mudded, bruised ribs and possibly a concussion, but nothing to worry about. In the grand scheme of things, he had come off light, even limping less already. (The leg wasn't broken, just something one of the Organic Mechanics had deemed a 'contooshun'.) The most threatening to his well being, he figured, were the violent acts of congratulations that he had received left and right. Shoves and hefts and punches and well-wishes. Cups of Shine shoved into his hands which he drank giddily. By the time he had spotted Slit on the line of Bloodbags, he was buzzing with drink and adrenaline still, high off of his own Good Deeds.

"We will be GREAT, you know! The GREATEST! This is for the best, Slit, you'll see! I'm glad they could patch you up! I'll need the best Lancer the Citadel has to offer!"

Slit would have sent his fist across Nux's nose, if only every movement didn't send a stab of pain through his side. So he settled for sneering, and turned his bruised back on his betraying Brother.

"Find shum other Lancer," he growled, his damaged tongue taking the bite out of his words. There was black shame in his stomach again. Just like the year before, but worse, because for all the months of practicing, all the toiling over his Runner, Nux had been the one to crush it all to dust.

"I don't want another Lancer," Nux snarled, glowering down at Slit and his disgusting moping. "We are BOTH victorious today, Brother! You'd rather a lame Lancer, just to drive? This is for the best! I could have run last year, but I put it off! How many failures? Until you get ripped to shreds? Useless for everyone! I'm tired of cowering in your shadow, Slit. I'm tired of being useless TRASH. Today I proved myself, did I not? Today He looked at me!"

"Hmn," Slit grunted, frowning down at his own calloused hands, and the little cuts interrupting his faded war paint. The little grease stain had done well. Better than all the others. Better than him. Slit had wanted the honor of the Wheel, wanted the coveted respect and station it brought. He had always been above Nux, was always the one both to tear him down, and protect him from others. His Brother. And there had been a thrill in Lancing. He took naturally to it. He never missed. It was his place after all, wasn't it? To be the Eldest. To be the one setting fire to Nux's enemies, clearing the path to Walhalla.

He looked over his shoulder, still scowling, but the sharp resentment in his face had softened.

"He wush shcanning the crowd…"

Wounds or not, Nux gave his Brother a sharp punch to the shoulder, "There was no one else! Unless you mean he was scanning you in The Bog!"

Slit growled and shoved Nux back, but couldn't help the twinge of a smirk fidgeting at the sliced corners of his mouth. "It wush the sun shining off the wreckage, drew Hish eye!"

"INSUFFERABLE!" Nux cackled, relief pouring over him. He knew Slit couldn't hate him for long! "Besides, you know as well as I it's not guaranteed I will get the Wheel," Although being the last Boy standing certainly increased his chances. As far as he knew, the last few nearly always were chosen. "Suck up that blood, Brother. There's celebrating tonight! Once we're patched they'll have the ceremony! No sleep tonight!" He was practically bouncing on his good leg, brimming with drink and delight. "I will find you some Shine! Get you started! We will be the Shining Boys of the Citidel in no time! If we live long enough, perhaps even become Imperators ourselves!"

Before he could answer, Nux was already hobbling swiftly away, Slit supposed to find the Shine that would drown out all the shame and ill-will still swirling at the bottom of his belly. And the pain. It was an incredible pain killer, that terrible tasting liquid, and it woke the fires of Walhalla within the soul of every War Boy in Gas Town. When his Brother returned, Slit drank deep, and ignored the burn on his tongue, and the fire in his throat, until all he felt was radiance.

An hour later, already intensely drunk, Slit was unhooked from his Blood Bag and released to the festivities. The sky was dimming, and soon the Immortan Himself would announce the names of his new Drivers, to join the ranks of his Auxiliary. As he ascended the steps to join his Council on their platform, the crowd roared their enthusiasm, waiting with baited breath as he deliberated with the People Eater and The Bullet Farmer. Decisions would soon be made, and Slit was glad to be Shining, glad he couldn't feel the gnaw of resentment eating its way through his heart. He draped an arm across Nux's shoulders, can of Chrome in hand, and offered him a wide and wild grin.

"You ready, Brother? Ready to Shine?"

Nux was so ready, in fact, he was having trouble staying upright. The drink had sent a thrilling numbness through him, his wounds forgotten, dancing in place as though the drummers were pounding away in his heart as he bounced and wobbled. He had never had so much positive attention before, so many congratulating cheers, nevermind so much Shine in his system. The liquor was a rare commodity for the likes of him, usually, reserved for those of a higher pay-grade. But the winner of the Arena Demolition? It was like the flood gates at the Citadel had been opened and out poured nothing but the wonderful, terrible burning liquid that numbed his senses and made everything so Shine, so Shine indeed. Sparkling. Even Slit's face was sparkling! "I'm gonna'... gonna' be the besst… best driver they ever… ever saw! Just… just you wait!" He gave Slit's stapled cheek a sharp poke just so he knew how serious he was about this proclamation.

Slit grunted, his draped arm wrapping firmly around Nux's neck, as if ready to haul him down and blast his skull with a pointed knuckle. He'd done it several times before. Beyond counting. But, instead, he simply lingered there, and kept his gaze on their All High Father...their Daddy, whose voice broke open and silenced the cheer of the crowd, and spilled out His Decisions. All names were hollow to Slit, empty and void of meaning. Some small part of him still dared to hope that his sharp name would pass through the Immortan's lips, fist clenching, muscles bunching at his Brother's neck.

" **NUX!"**  The name, a venomous snake, slithered down Slit's throat and struck down that little spark of hope, and pumped it full of hate. But he smiled, lips tight and nostrils flared as he jostled the War Boy at his side.

"Well now...was there any doubt…"

Nux's eyes went wide. This was all one big dream. He had died in the middle of the arena and hallucinated this aftermath in a fevered dream before burning away to Walhalla and that wasn't HIS wheel being offered out to him, so shiny, so chrome, sparkling in the hand of one of the Imperators he was supposed to approach.

"NUX! NUX! NUX! NUX!" His cohorts who were far more impressed than Slit chanted around him, and he wobbled forward, his stomach in knots, tears in his eyes, he could hear the heavenly wail of guitar in his mind's ear as he stumbled up to receive it… but no, no there it was, cold and beautiful in his hands, plain and ready for his own personal touches… waiting to be hung at the Shrine back at the citadel with the other's, official and everything…. "NUX! NUX! NUX! NUX!" And tomorrow, he'd scavenge for parts, first choice, anything he liked to fix up his car and blaze home in glory…

With a wild yell he wove the wheel victoriously in the air, but unfortunately the gallon of Shine burning away in his stomach seemed to be quite excited as well, his face going green behind what remained of that day's clay on his skin… Not on the Imperator NOT ON THE IMPERATOR-

He turned sharply, crumpling down to be sick at the commander's feet, just barely missing his boots.

Laughter roared and spread like wildfire through the crowd, some still gleefully chanting his name. And Slit retreated with disgust, weaving and half-stumbling between the other racked and ruined bodies of his peers. No one noticed. Many were already turning round and leaving as the announcements ended and the Immortan signaled that the real celebration ought to begin. The drums and guitar struck up, spotlights flashing on and focused on The Doof Warrior, filling the night air with electric splendor as every War Boy sprayed Chrome across his screaming mouth. Euphoric, orgasmic chaos.

Slit drank. Then drank more, and stained his own lips silver in the relative quiet of Gas Town's entrance. Quiet compared to the mosh pit of thrashing, ecstatic young men, dancing to the furious riffs and chords sung down to them. But it all echoed out into the Wasteland, probably carried for miles, and the Shine turned it to poison in Slit's ears. Lancer. His place. His lot in this life. Big, protective Brother, indeed…

He spat at the sand with contempt and tipped back the metal can of liquor, emptying the last of it to burn away his fury, and only managing to add to it.

Nux, meanwhile, had been caught up in a flurry of celebration. He had Feasted with the other New Drivers, a sure cure for his upset stomach they assured him, the freshest produce he had ever tasted, crisp and green, and something called Bread, washed down with a fresh cup of Shine. Before he could even think to look for his Lancer, he had been dragged out into the dance floor, thrashing and screaming and Chroming with the other drivers in a fit of ecstasy.

Sure, they would probably tease him about his sickness later, but he had never been happier. The Immortan had smiled down upon him! Or at least had deemed his driving Worthy - HE was worthy! Dreams come true! His life would change that day, he knew it, he felt it, change for the better. The first step toward the most glorious death imaginable…

After what had to have been hours, he finally was able to pull himself away, staggering along with his Wheel strapped to his belt to go take a well deserved piss. He wobbled out toward the gates of the facility, the sounds of the raging festivities muted only slightly, and he wondered if his ears would ever stop ringing, but he didn't care. It took some concentration to empty his engine, so to speak, but as he drank in the cool air that smelled fragrantly of oil and smoke, breathing clearly for the first night in ages, he caught sight of a shadow not so far away… "SLIT! Sssliiit!" He tripped over his own boots as he made his way over, "There you are! I wondered… wondered where you'd gone off to, Brother!"

Slit's skin prickled. His head swam with Shine. And it made him honest, stripped down the hull of goodwill he'd attempted to show Nux, and exposed his black frame that still shuddered with resentment. If Nux had been sober, he might have seen it coming, might have recognized that look in his red eye that always flashed when he was ready to break Nux apart. And when the younger War Boy finally made it to him, reaching for him, Slit moved cooly out of the way, murderous eyes shifting down to the glint of silvery steel on his belt.

"Is'at it,then? That's your wheel? Give it here…"

"Yes! Yes, isn't it Shiny? I'll add something here I think," He tapped the bare center, fumbling clumsily to unhook it and hand it over proudly, beaming at his Brother, yearning for his approval, for his appreciation and support. "Some wire, some tidbits I'll… I'll scavenge… I still can't believe it! You think… you think people'll… remember the… the bit where I yoked?"

"Mmh...maybe start callin' ya Puke 'stead'a Nux," Slit grumbled, and turned the wheel slowly in his hands. His wheel. It should've been his. And as the gashes in his stapled side throbbed, it drove deeper his hate. Slowly, he extended a hand, and wrapped his fingers round the back of Nux's skull, to bring him close, noses touching, breaths mingling in the chill of the air as Slit's molars gnashed together.

"Been through lots...you'n me," he began, speech slurring thanks to his sore tongue and the Shine. "And Brothers is Up Front...mmh? Brothers pay their debts."

"Through lots, yes!" Nux grinned, brimming with excitement still as they leaned in together, "Through lots more before we die! Together!"

"That's right...you'n me…" His grip on Nux's skull tightened, and his breath plumed like a snorting bull as the air grew colder by the moment, and the moon lit them up against the sand, angry tears brimming in Slit's eyes. "You're Shinin', Brother….thanks to me...thanks to what you stole…Say it."

His grip on the wheel turned his knuckles white, and his breath trembled, bubbling on the boiling surface of his fury and heartbreak.

"What?" Nux laughed nervously, Slit's grasp on him turning worringly tight, even in his inebriated state. "I've stolen noffin' from you, Brother! Anything what… what HAS been stolen has always been SHARED, regardless, eh?" He gave Slit a playful elbow to his side, hoping to relieve the tension, his own grip returning to the wheel to try to take it back.

"Let's share it, then," Slit hissed, releasing Nux and drawing back, fist flying hard across his temple as he wrenched the wheel from his hand. " _Let me share it with you!_ "

He brought it down on him, again and again, violent and merciless and hateful, pistons firing from his shoulder, to the wheel, and down onto Nux's flesh, without care for where it landed. Each vicious blow punished Nux for his success, for the dream they'd shared, and he stole for himself. Greedy. Selfish. Heartless. And by the time Slit's fuel gave out, and he stood panting, blood dripping from his fist and the circle of steel it gripped, Nux lay gasping in the sand.

Beatings from Slit were not an uncommon occurrence, but even so Nux was somehow taken by surprise. At first he had been too shocked by the first blow to even think to try to block the second. He had been barely able to stand when huddling with his friend, and quickly found himself flat on his back, arms crossed to try to catch some of the brute force, but it was unending. Why? What had he done, really? Slit went on about wanting to drive, but never listened, never  _listened_  when Nux had, their whole lives, dreamed of it himself. It was one quirk that hadn't been beaten out of him, no matter how hard Slit might have tried, and if he'd just  _thought about it_  he would have known all along…

Slit threw down the wheel, huffed out the last of his own steam, and felt better. Nux's debt was paid in blood. "It's for the best...eh, Nux? We'll be unstoppable…"

He turned away, and swept up his discarded metal can, thirsty for another drink, ready to throw himself into the fray of War Boys as his dream evaporated into the night sky. He would be Lancer. The best of them all. He'd survive them all, and dance on the graves of every Buzzard, Badger, and Raider he sent up in flames, a bitter vengeance on the world.

Nux decided, wheezing once he was certain he was alone and could flop flat on his back and concentrate on stopping the world from spinning, that perhaps he should just stay there for a bit. He ached, even through the Shine, and maybe it was the Chrome still circulating in his system but he was grinning as he stared up at the stars through a swelling, bloodied eye and bruised face. "Unstoppable…!" Slit would get over it, as he always did. If he really had wanted the position, he would have killed him. But he didn't, which spoke volumes to him. Brothers. Until the end.


End file.
